


More Than a Dream

by triumphforks



Category: Inazuma Eleven, Inazuma Eleven: Ares no Tenbin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 18:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18975589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triumphforks/pseuds/triumphforks
Summary: During their final year of high school, an unexpected dream has Midorikawa looking at Hiroto in a new light.





	More Than a Dream

He’d had a dream. It was one of those that, in the moment, had felt completely natural, with no way to distinguish it from reality - that is, until he woke, and the shame instantly hit. It hit so hard he had to lie there a moment just to process it, just to reassure himself that it had been a  _ dream  _ and it  _ wasn’t real _ so all of the gross feelings he had, the knotted stomach and the crawling skin and the deep,  _ deep shame _ could go away. 

It didn’t work. Even the walk to morning practice, in the sharp, biting air, wasn’t quite enough to let the memory of it all subside. Which wasn’t fair, in all honesty - why was it dreams like this that had the audacity to stick around? He frowned at the ground, and kicked at whatever pieces of stray gravel he came across with more ferocity than usual. It had all been really normal, except for one thing. He’d been with Hiroto.

_ With _ Hiroto. Like… they were dating (and seemed more than comfortable going beyond just holding hands). In the dream it had seemed as natural as breathing, but now? He didn’t even like Hiroto! Annoying, entitled, still barely ever turned up to practice - and he’d always monopolise Tatsuya, always acting so chummy when he was around, and so distantly cold when he wasn’t. Why Midorikawa’s mind had decided that was the kind of dream he should have was beyond him. 

He was still puzzling it all over when he arrived at the changeroom, not looking up, instead heading straight over to his usual corner in a kind of daze. Why?  _ Why? _ He was stuck with that in his head, barely registering his own actions. And it must have shown; in the midst of (failing to) tie his shoelaces, a concerned voice came and broke through his concentration. 

“You OK?” 

It was sweet of Tatsuya. To be so concerned. And to do so with so much careful attention. He always felt safer when Tatsuya was near, leaning in close, a warm hand on his shoulder, speaking softly in case it was something he didn’t want anyone else hearing. It was kind, and comfortable, and above all - natural.  _ Why couldn’t it have been Tatsuya in that dream? _

“I’m fine,” he replied, quickly falling in to his ‘nothing wrong here’ persona. “Just tired.” He smiled a smile he knew was reassuring (because he’d practiced it to be), and it seemed to be enough. Tatsuya started as though to say something more, but a noise interrupted - the change room door forced open, and who should walk in? Hiroto, all nonchalant, not even stopping to acknowledge any of them. Tatsuya gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, before going off to greet their resident lone wolf… and he couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed.

Not that it mattered. What did he have to feel jealous about anyway? (He’d gone back to his shoes, but with an ear to the others conversation -  _ You turned up!, Of course, aren’t there going to be scouts at the next game? _ ). Tatsuya was still his friend, he reassured himself, even though he had questionable taste in other friends. That wouldn’t change, strange dream or no. And anyway, a dream was just a dream! It’s not like Hiroto would ever know about it. It’s not like - he’d paused again, taking a glance up in some kind of effort to… convince himself there was nothing redeeming about Hiroto? 

That turned out to be a mistake. Hiroto was half way through changing, his shirt almost pulled off over his head, but he’d stopped to yawn; the effort helping his body stretch, and his own eyes linger, and he had to admit (reluctantly, always reluctantly) that maybe there was  _ one _ redeeming factor about Kira Hiroto. 

He hadn’t realised he’d been staring, until he got caught. It was only a second, but by some cursed fate Hiroto had looked over and their eyes met - only for a second, before he came to his senses and sharply looked away. He could feel his ears burning, and all of the shame he’d spent the greater part of the morning shoving to the back of his mind resurfaced, starting as a pit of anxiousness deep in his stomach and quickly spreading to the very tips of his shaking fingers.  _ It was just a dream!,  _ he told himself for the thousandth time, finishing off tying his laces with a violent pull before quickly (and deliberately) leaving the room, making very sure he only looked straight ahead as he went.

  
  


… If only he’d had that same resolve for the rest of the day. Because the memory of the dream haunted him, resurfacing every time his mind began to wander. He’d sat in math, his seat at the back, and instead of trying to understand the mess on the board he found himself drawn to the back of Hiroto’s head, wondering what he was thinking in that moment. Wondering if he had any idea what kind of grief his existence was causing. He’d felt safe doing that, until notes began to be passed back and Hiroto turned, and again - cruel chance just had to have their eyes meet! He’d jumped, and looked away, and put on his disinterested-in-the-world persona; and hoped he hadn’t been so obvious as to give himself away.

It happened again, during lunch, where he’d been caught staring while waiting in line at the cafeteria. And again, during cleaning time, when he’d been so occupied moving back the desks and  _ not  _ looking at Hiroto that he walked right in to him instead. What a mess of a day! At least it was over, soon after that - afternoon training was almost too much, and he didn’t have the breath or the energy to think about his petty personal problems. And after training? Hiroto had never been the type to hang around much. He’d probably slinked off to whatever dark and isolated hole he hid in when he wasn’t at school, so there was no worry there. He could let his guard down, at last. 

But he’d paused, at that thought. That was a bit sad, wasn’t it? A bit too lonely, he thought, even for someone like Hiroto. He’d never put much thought to the other boy before, but that struck him. Stuck with him. And once again he found himself frozen in thought, staring at his shoes (this time in his shoe locker), frowning. Where had this concern come from?

“Oi.” He jumped, looked up - and, for what felt like the hundredth time that day, met eyes with Kira Hiroto. 

“What?” His voice had none of the concern he’d been worrying about mere moments before.

“What’s up with you? You’ve been staring at me all day.”

Shit. Caught. Quick - something.

“ _ I’ve _ been staring at  _ you _ ?” His mind scrambled for words, but on the outside he was calm. He closed his shoe locker, partly for effect, partly to buy some time. “Isn’t it the other way around?” He said the first thing that came to mind, bracing himself for some kind of scoffing reply - but the expression on Hiroto’s face changed all at once, from accusing, to shock, and then all the way to sheepishness. Inside, Midorikawa grinned. He’d hit something here. 

“I’m going home,” he said, full of confidence now, pointedly  _ not  _ looking at Hiroto as he made way to leave - but was stopped by a grab at his arm, and a rushed call.

“ _Wait!_ ” He stopped and looked back. Waiting. He liked to think he looked tall and haughty and irritated, and definitely not the weak anxious mess he was. Hiroto seemed to be searching for words. And the longer it took, the more nervous he felt, too; his every instinct was telling him to _get out_ , before things got messy and complicated. Before he started thinking about that dream and going involuntarily red. So he started off again (suddenly, without any of the grace his haughty persona should have), but that seemed to spur Hiroto in to action. 

“Do you want to… there’s a band I like, they’re playing tonight. Do you want to come?” The words came tumbling out, desperate in their own way. Hiroto wasn’t looking at him. In fact he was holding himself aloof, trying to come across as disinterested, completely at odds with what he’d just said. Midorikawa had been so tense, but the scene now was so comical he couldn’t help but laugh.

“... Why me?” He said, voice still tinted with laughter, and doing away with any kind of facade.

“I asked Tatsuya once. I don’t think he enjoyed it.” Hiroto still wouldn’t look at him. His words were short, as if to feed in to that aloof air, but he had a suspicion they were kept simple for a different reason. “You…” A pause, a moment to gather himself; and Hiroto did a sly thing. He leaned down a little, and then glanced up. Bright eyes, and a coy smile. “You seem like you could handle it.”

With that, all the nerves came back - as did his thoughts from that morning. “Sure.” He said, face red, and it was his turn to look away and hide behind short, sharp words. “Why not?” 

But for the uncountable time that day, his eyes were drawn to Hiroto. Just like every time before, they met; and this time, he knew it wasn’t cruel chance. Maybe it was something else entirely. 


End file.
